Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars
The summer between The Second Year and The Third Year.

Chapter 25: Harvest (Part 1)

Mid-June

Gilbert John Blythe!

Dearest!

How could you use your magic when I told you not to? It is a miracle that Marcus didn't catch you! And yes, I know how you like to help children, but really Gilbert, you must think a bit about keeping up the pretense of being normal. Feigns do take effort on your part. Oh, how you worry me sick now that Eugene cannot keep tabs on you!

Speaking of Eugene and feigns, what of this news of Ella Hammond?!

I swear, I fell out of my chair when I read it. Mrs. Lynde gave me the strangest look and "tsk-tsk". (Rachel really does "tsk-tsk" in the most grating way, have you noticed? It actually crawls under your skin and takes residence. Even as I write, I itch from it.) But Eugene kept that one to himself, didn't he? I had no idea he liked Ella. I thought he had a thing for Helen? Didn't you say that he proposed to her in one of our Windy Poplars moments together? I think that was the night we almost.… Oh, Goodness! Now I really am getting distracted! See how I miss you! But I'm sure you did say Eugene proposed to Helen before we broke down laughing. Even now I can't stop laughing at how overconfident Eugene can be! He knows Helen is peculiar! Still, it would be nice if he could find himself a woman to take on his affections. He still has a lot to give, yet, I don't see Ella or Helen in that role.

Stop it Gilbert. Just stop it, you infuriating man! I can hear your teasing disapproval. Everyone should have the happiness we do. I'm not going to stop match-making!

More seriously, I have to question the accuracy of Marcus' revelation as he was so drunk at the time. Did he really say that Ella left for Baltimore to go to Eugene? I am inclined to think as you do, that there's more to this than what meets the eye.

I'm wasting away from lack of your company. This summer is so dreadfully dull without you here.

Thank you for suggesting that I ask your mother to help with the wedding planning. She jumped at the chance. I suppose I can't blame her though, seeing as you are her one and only. Of course, she wants the very best. As a result, she's a very, very motivated taskmaster!

Oh—should I forget I'll mention it now—I've decided that I will not call her "mother". I didn't come by this lightly so please don't be disappointed! When the time is right, we will call your mother "Grandma" and we will call Marilla "Aunt Marilla" whether she wants it or not. I will wear the "mother" banner and you will be called "father", unless you prefer "Pop" or "Daddy" or something else. Is that alright with you, dearer than dear, Gil? This way the children aren't confused, but you understand why I cannot call your mother "mother". Don't you?

We're finally done going through all your things and boxing them up for later. I didn't know you were such a magpie! Honestly, I'm impressed but perhaps not a good way. But, I am getting more used to the idea of leaving Avonlea and I started to pack things of my own too.

Mrs. Lynde and I had a nice talk about leaving home. Did you know that her Thomas was a great deal older and how scared she was to move away from home? She then went on and on about the telephone! "That blasted, noise making box!" she used to call it. Yet, she's turned her thinking now. She said, "Oh, it won't be as bad for you Anne Shirley! Gilbert will get a telephone and once the babies come, you'll pray for loneliness!" I think she's right though. She usually is, it's just her manner of delivery. It is lovely to have a telephone so moving away no longer feels as desolate and I can truly focus on just being with you.

(Several paragraphs omitted.)

As far as babies go, Dora is up to seven hundred diapers! She's walking herself quite thin from house to house, looking for babies to change. She's meeting so many women of all ages. Dare I say that Marilla's condition for marriage is brilliant? She's really getting quite the education and Dora doesn't seem quite as keen to marry young. Yet, she's still so stubborn she doesn't realize she can change her mind. Ralph Andrews would wait, don't you think?

And Davy is back working on your folk's farm. Dr. Blair said he needed time away to recover from "falling in the woods". His eye has been a tremendous worry for all of us, but we're assured he'll make a full recovery. (But how I wish you were here!) We wonder who might have done it. Davy still says he doesn't know for sure.

I gave Katherine your contact information. Something about a boarding house with a reduced rate. Overall, the communication between Helen and Katherine has not improved. Katherine is returning to her old, brittle and sarcastic manners, but not with me. I think her taking a week to go to Kingsport to find a reputable boarding house for next term was wise. Even if it left me teaching Miss Marin. Not that I mind, I don't. I rather teach than sew anyway.

Helen is super busy right now. She may not have time to write. She helps nurse Mr. Marin when she's home. She is to be Miss Marin's guardian when he passes. She's still working on those mourning dresses. What a bittersweet beauty. Even Marilla has helped out by making colorful little smocks and aprons for her to wear. She says she's practicing her old skills. She wants to sew my wedding gown.

Helen's still selling contracts for the Avonlea Telephone Exchange or ATE. She and Charlie are a good team and are making a killing. Helen butters up the customer they have targeted, and then, if necessary, Charlie comes in and closes the sale. A lot of old-timers won't do business with a woman. And sometimes they do it the other way around, Charlie butter ups the potential customer and then Helen comes in and seals the deal. They split all commissions. But I do see why Katherine feels a bit displaced right now. Helen's world didn't collapse when she lost her sewing business. It actually blossomed on her. And see, you were worried for nothing.

With many kisses for you and all my love,

Your Anne-girl

P.S. Darling Gil! Mrs. Lynde just told me that Eugene wrote her a while ago to inquire if she might be his housekeeper when he moved to Baltimore. Did he mention anything to you about this? Do you suppose this is why Ella went to Baltimore? For a job?

Miss Marin stood on the small, movable step in her new, lavender dress for one final fitting. Helen Blythe was on the floor, setting a crisp hem. The younger lady felt awkward watching a full grown, white woman working at her feet and fought her unease. She needed the dress and the one Helen was making would last a long time. She could tell just from touching the material. The fabric was as durable as it was pretty. The dress was flattering too. But it wasn't the dress that made her feel odd. It was the sensation of being cared for and having a plan for the future. Once the reaper came to harvest her father's soul, she would be under Helen's care and guidance.

That was all right with the young lady. Judging by the embellishments on the dress and the strength of its construction, she would be looked after well enough.

The other Blythes cared about her too. Gilbert gave up his room so the Marins could board at the Blythe home. Her Papa had the comfortable guest room on the main floor. It wasn't as fancy as Preacher Wright's guest bedroom, but it was large. There were two beds. At first, when Miss Marin had seen the second bed, she had assumed she would be sharing the room with her father, but instead, she found out she would share a bed with Helen in Gilbert's old room. She didn't say anything at the time, but secretly, she was glad to know she'd have a place where she could hide her tears from her Papa's eyes.

Her only complaint about the upstairs room was it was too quiet. She missed her father's deep breathing. His gentle, even wheeze lulled her to sleep. Helen talked when she slept and nothing she said made sense. She spoke of dories and tragic love. "Trance talk" is how Helen explained it. Miss Marin never received any sort of clarification. She was told, "Pay it no mind."

Miss Marin missed her old neighbor, Margo White. The black woman would knock every day, touching base on her father's health without being too obvious about it. Margo insisted that Miss Marin come and see her from time to time and try not to lose her sweet ways. She did give the Blythe's an allowance that they weren't a bunch of "crazy whities" like the nearby Boulters. The only sad part about moving away was there would be no more walks home with Davy. But that was alright too when she searched for silver linings. Davy had been beaten up on account of her. She wasn't going to let that happen to him again. She shied away whenever he got close now. She didn't know how to explain.

"I think I'm done here. Just need to find the strays." Helen lightly touched the floor looking for runaway pins. The younger lady leaned forward a bit from her perch, peering over her full, lavender skirt for the sharp, shiny objects.

"I don't see any."

Helen sat back on her heels, her blue-cotton skirt spread out across her knees. "Neither do I. And I don't feel any either. I guess that means we're done." Standing and stretching a tad, "Do you want to go show the others what you look like? Maybe even Davy? I'll be more than happy to call for him."

Davy was working hard in the field, plowing new furrows with an ox's help. Later on, Mr. Blythe would show Davy how he sows seed into the fresh cut ruts. Miss Marin supposed that at fall they would harvest together too. Davy didn't have time for her—really. It was just as well. If he had time for girls, he should find a nice white girl, not her. She could hide many things, but not the fact she wasn't white.

Helen moved her charge towards the full-length mirror so she could see how she looked. It wasn't a fancy dress, but the fit was lovely and the pastel hue set off her tea colored skin. Miss Marin caught the golden glint of her eye in the looking-glass. She was pretty for a colored girl.

Miss Marin shrugged off her self-admiration almost embarrassed at the air she gave herself.

"How does it feel?"

Miss Marin rubbed her sides. "I'm not used to this thing yet."

Helen knew immediately what she was referring to. "I know they're rather burdensome things, but they do help set off your figure."

"I don't have anything to set off though." Comparatively, it was true. Helen was a plump mess of womanly curves. She was a young girl still developing breasts and had yet to experience menstruation. She had just turned fourteen and she was angular.

"Ah, but you do," Helen smiled. "A good corset will help you make the most of what you've got. What did your mother look like? Was she thin and willowy like Miss Shirley or was she more like me? Stout curves everywhere?"

"More like you. But Papa says I take after the Marins, my coloring aside."

"What does your Grandmother look like?"

"I don't know. She's back in Cuba. I never met her. Papa's father hated the fact he married my Mama, so he left for Canada."

"Well, I think we should show your Papa how grown up you are," Helen suggested. "It will be a couple days before I can finish the hem, then you can wear the dress all the time. Wouldn't it be nice to give him a sneak peek?"

She glanced back at her full-length reflection as Helen adjusted some tucks around her waist. Miss Marin wasn't a vain person, but she did think she looked nicer than usual. "Well, maybe just Papa."

"All right, I'll go get him." Helen's eyes danced. "You and he can have a nice tea together."

Late June

Dear Davy,

I'm sorry for not writing sooner and not bi-locating to see how you are. It takes a while for letters to reach me now that I'm at the end of the line and bi-location to Avonlea is a tricky business from so far away. And now Anne insists that I don't try anything magical while I'm here. But she's right on that part. Your sister is very smart. Might have saved me a spot of trouble had I heeded.

So, how are you doing? I know what happened to you. I got about ten letters from various people in the last few weeks telling me all about your "fall in the woods", but no letter from you. For shame Davy—I'm your brother now and I fully intend to get to the bottom of the three-to-one fight you suffered, with or without your help. What happened to you is a crime. The constable should be involved.

In addition to all your bruises, Dad said you got a few stitches in your head and a strange haircut from where they shaved. Again, I can't tell you how sorry I am I wasn't there to help you through that. Although I wouldn't have been able to heal your concussion, I might have spared you the stitches and healed your eye. Now you have to walk around with your head partially shaved. Your hat will get good use, except when you must take it off for a lady.

And how is your Miss Marin?

You can tell me exactly how things are. You're holding down the fort for me, so please, do not spare me any complaint.

Just so you know, as a matter of practicality, and partly to commiserate with you, I shaved my mustache. I feel almost naked without it and my ugly scar is in plain view. It's funny how a little change affects your esteem, so you have been in my thoughts.

So, let's have a contest, shall we? The first to get their hair back wins.

Your brother,

Gilbert

Early July

Dear Gilbert,

You shaved your mustache!? Why! Why would you do that? Yours was fantastic! It was so big and hairy! And the way you pointed the ends and curled them was super impressive. I suppose you can grow it back as you say, but to shave it off to start over—well, that wasn't your brightest move.

But as for other things around here—I'm no good at letter writing. Miss Marin is very kind to me and I am kind to her, but, we've haven't held hands since I was beat up. Not even in the barn. I would like to but she avoids it. I don't know what to do but give her space. Her father is pretty sick now and any good moment he has I want her to spend it with him. If she needs a break from that, then I'm here. I don't know what more there is to say about the situation, other than it's really sad to watch.

Your brother,

Davy

P.S. I'm seeing the same fox in the woods when I walk to and from your folks. Do you know of any dens near your place? I wonder if there are cubs?

Davy Keith ran the back of his hand over his forehead and stole a minute to look up at the sky. The clear day was choking with gray. It wasn't a cloud exactly. More like a dark veil draped between the sun and the earth. The air was dewy and fresh with salt from the ocean. Davy didn't need to be told to head for the stables. He knew the pattern of a thunderstorm. He unhitched the ox where he had been plowing and lead the docile beast back.

He kept his stride long and steady, doing his best to mimic the gait of Mr. Blythe and Mr. Marin. The ox didn't know any better as Davy pulled the rope that was connected to the bit. Along the way Mr. Marin greeted Davy. Davy tried not to look surprised to see him working. The older man was now more or less permanently infirmed. Hank held out his hand and Davy took it to mean that he wanted to take over the rope.

"You havin' a good day, today?" Davy asked forcing his voice low but not uncomfortably so.

"By the sweat of your brow thou shall eat*," Hank answered Davy.

Davy knew Mr. Marin was quoting the Bible, but his response didn't fit his question. Maybe his thinking is off-kilter? Testing the theory, Davy looked over Mr. Marin's gaunt appearance. He looked sick and frail. Davy thought he should be resting or spending time with Miss Marin instead. When the rope passed, Davy couldn't help but notice how the older man's hands were nothing but bones.

Hank saw some of Davy's concern and explained, "That just means, we—as menfolk—are doomed to work the rest of our lives. We live by our labor, and as I feel good enough today to work, I do. God's decree and all."

"There's also a season for resting," Davy suggested, surprised at his own Biblical counterpoint**. He didn't mean to sound impertinent to the older man. He just thought if he felt good Mr. Marin was wasting his time not being with his daughter.

"I'll rest soon enough. Walk with me a spell, won't you?"

Davy suffered several intense sideways glances and was starting to feel self-conscious.

Mr. Marin then cleared this throat. "Davy—we probably should talk. My girl feels really sore about what happened to you. I feel bad too. I wish I could say it gets easier, but, I'd be lying. There will always be bigots. Some blows are physical, but the ones that really hurt are the ones that sneak up on you, like a turn in the weather. I had an employer that wouldn't pay me a white man's wage because on account of my colored loved ones."

"Mr. Blythe's not like that."

"No, he isn't. But many are. There shouldn't even be pay grades based on skin color. Take that telephone company. They hired a whole bunch of menfolk from New Halifax to put up the poles and string the wire. Dangerous work. Those men aren't getting paid what a white crew would. But I'm telling you this so you understand better what happened to you. People hang onto racism as it makes a market of cheap labor. People will fight mixing whites and blacks, not because it makes sense, but because of dollars and cents."

Davy's stomach flipped as he considered Mr. Marin's experiences. He knew that Mr. Marin's father disowned him over his wife and child. If there was someone that understood what Davy went through, it was him. "I never even thought about that."

"Well, you need to," Mr. Marin stayed cool. "I guarantee you that Penny is thinking of such things. She's worried for you. She's seen me cheated and hurt more than once. She thinks you deserve better than what she has to offer."

Davy sniffed involuntarily. Miss Marin's pulling away from him made a lot more sense. She was wrong in her decision, but he could see how she made it. "I don't care, sir. What those thugs did isn't right and it's not going to change me." He hoped his earnestness would circle back to his daughter and reassure her.

"Don't be afraid to tell her how you feel then," Mr. Marin advised, "She can handle it. Trust me there... I…" Mr. Marin choked up as he recalled how beautiful his daughter was in the new lavender dress. "I'm really proud of the woman she's becoming. Real proud."

Davy followed Mr. Marin into the weathered stable where they were welcomed by one hungry sow. Henrietta initially got excited to see human legs approach, but then gave them a disappointing and quite vocal review once she realized no slop bucket was with them. Mr. Marin led the ox back to the partially covered paddock and Davy loitered by the doors, noticing all the other animals seemed calm as the storm approached. The thunder told him the storm was six miles off now.

Mr. Marin returned with his hands deep in his pockets and gave Davy a long, hard look.

"David?" Mr. Marin spoke his name slow and deliberate. "I want you to know it's all right with me. Should you ever wonder, just know, it's all right."

Davy wasn't sure what Mr. Marin was alluding to and peered back at him with a question over his face. Mr. Marin chuckled and slapped Davy on his back when passing. "You'll figure it out one day. Let's get back to work."

Mid-July

Dear Davy,

I do wish you'd just tell me what happened, and who you think might have done it. I am afraid to say it's someone you know. That's why they knew to look in the woods for you, and why they put a bag over your head. But if you rather not tell me, for whatever reason, I can accept that too. Just know I am glad you're alright.

I'm sorry Miss Marin is not wanting to hold your hand. Some women are like that. They get nervous. Exercise patience—which it sounds like you are. Bring her flowers. They are certainly available in that wood you cross. Being available to listen is the best gift of all. Relax. You're fourteen. Be glad you didn't get a slate to your head.

My mustache is back to some degree, but I'm not going to grow it out like before. I'm going to keep it shorter and forgo the curling and mustache grease. I'm lucky that my facial hair is thick. All I want is something to cover this scar.

Did I win our contest?

Your brother,

Gilbert

Late July

Dear Katherine,

Those accommodations sound fine as long as give me the occasional assist in magical travel, otherwise, curfews might be an issue. My hours at the hospital will be unpredictable. But if I can come and go magically, it won't matter and I promise to be fair about it and help you see Helen from time to time.

Thank you for the referral, I'll write the boarding house right away, but you shouldn't feel as if you should leave so soon. Stay in Avonlea at Green Gables a bit longer! I like knowing you're around to help out, plus, I think Helen might miss you quite a bit. Everyone says she's busy but I am sure she would lament terribly if you were to move now instead of next month.

Sincerely,

Gilbert

Early August

Bertie!

I normally write a more cheerful letter but I'm swamped. I don't know how it happened, but I'm suddenly a nurse to Mr. Marin, and he has a lot of physical problems, the most frustrating is his inability to speak clearly anymore. I understand him through my sixth sense, so I suppose that's how I ended up in the position I am in. Luckily, your mother and Aunt Sarah help too. So, it's not quite all on me, but you can understand why I have the bigger part.

Now, as far as Davy goes and your questions, I don't even know where to start. Yes, I know who hurt Davy and no, I'm not going to tell anyone. Not Davy and especially not you! Considered that bug of curiosity squashed. But I will tell you that Davy suspects the correct people, but he has no proof so he wisely says nothing. My visions hardly count as proof. Oh, don't frown. Making such a claim is what got our ancestors burned at the stake or drowned in the river. You can't just go around pointing out crimes without valid (or what counts as valid) evidence. Didn't your experience with Marcus Trimble teach you that?

I'm rather more distracted by my own problems. Katherine is upset with me right now and she has a good reason. She does understand why I'm interested in taking Miss Marin as a ward, but, she's not supporting it very much. She is stiff and cold with me. I feel like I put her on the back burner and maybe I did. When you have this seeing power you get so distracted by all the lives around you. I'm worried I'm going to lose what little I have regained if she stops loving me. But maybe that's the problem. I'm more worried about having powers than her. Everything feels backward. It's no wonder I haven't regained seeing the future.

Would you be able to help me smooth this out? Especially when the fall term starts. Isn't your boarding house is next to hers? It won't be that hard to talk me up a tad, will it?

Your adorable cousin,

Helen

Helen rested next to Miss Marin and tried not to notice the movements she made. The girl's insomnia was easy to explain. She was rightfully worried. Helen was worried too but not like Miss Marin. Earlier that day her father had a seizure and this time, he slipped into a coma.

Dr. Blair called on the Blythe home and gave his opinion. No one really expected he could do anything to stop the Great Destroyer. Mr. Marin received morphine which silenced his intermittent moans. Dr. Blair announced death would happen soon, if not that night, then the next. He treated Miss Marin sympathetically and extended an invitation that she could call on him at any time in the future to discuss his case. He pointed out that grief did funny things to memories, and when she was ready to handle the details of his passing, he would share them.

Dr. Blair offered to pray with her. He said he and an old friend, now passed away, used to collect miracles in their work. There were miracles all around them, they just had to have eyes to see.

Miss Marin, who believed in the power of prayer and the everlasting love the Almighty gave, thought the doctor's offer to pray was insensitive. Helen watched her eyes spark with anger and heard her thoughts as clear as if they were her own. If prayer worked then her father would be healthy, laughing at her jokes about the barnyard animals, and calling her by those corny nicknames—L'il Cent and Penny. He would be helping Davy in the fields and showing him animal husbandry. Instead, her father was languishing in a stranger's bed, his only relief coming from a shot, and just waiting to die. She tried to be kind but informed the physician that he could go home. He could pray if he liked from anywhere he pleased, but she needed to be with her father.

Miss Marin attempted to sleep in the spare room near her father until Mrs. Blythe came in and insisted she go upstairs to bed. Helen's eyes brimmed with tears as the young lady kissed her father's cheek and told him she loved him, possibly for the last time. The three Blythes needed to change her Papa's clothing. He had soiled himself and the smell proved it, but Miss Marin didn't need to see that. The three of them heard her weeping upstairs from Gilbert's old room as they worked to make her father more comfortable in his compromised condition.

Helen joined her an hour later. Miss Marin was trying to lay as quiet as her father did downstairs. Her mind quickened with a new worry. Helen discerned it from the tone of her voice and the way her hand found hers in under the cover. Helen held it, showing she was ready to hear her say whatever was troubling her.

"Miss Helen?" The shake in her voice matched the tears filling her eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, and you can call me Helen. Everyone close to me does."

Miss Marin took a big breath and asked boldly. "You lost your powers when someone you loved died?"

Helen gulped down her own bitter grief for Lynn. She had lost more than her powers, she had lost herself too. A witch without powers, what was she? She didn't know for the longest time. "That's right, child."

Miss Marin was quiet for a really long time and Helen thought she heard a sob embedded in her respiration.

"But you got them back?"

"Partially," Helen understood what Miss Marin was really asking. "When I figured out there was someone that loved me more than they loved themselves, they started to come back."

"Miss Brooke?"

"That's right, child."

"How?"

It was a question that Helen had oft-asked herself. "I'm not sure." Helen squeezed her hand. "My grandmother used to say love and magic are distant cousins. My guess is, when the right person in your life loves you back, anything is possible."

Miss Marin sniffed and withdrew her hand from Helen's. She pulled the cover her way, cocooning herself in the plain muslin sheet.

"I know it's hard, but you really should try and get a few hours of sleep. You don't have to worry about my magical prowess tonight, that definitely is wasted energy."

"All right," Miss Marin's troubled voice sounded.

Helen said nothing more but left a peck on the crown of her soon-to-be ward's head. A witch's blessing was better than none at all.

to be continued

*Geneses 3:19
**Ecclesiastes 3